Broken Man
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for Plush 11.07 Talk of Lucifer and the cage is not particularly welcome to Sam Winchester, but it's waking old ghosts for Dean. Ghosts that do not mean him well...can he fight against them? And if he looses can Sam get him back?
1. Chapter 1

Tag for Plush 11.07 Talk of Lucifer and the cage is not particularly welcome to Sam Winchester, but it's waking old ghosts for Dean. Ghosts that do not mean him well...can he fight against them? And if he looses can Sam get him back?

BROKEN MAN

Sam was afraid. He wasn't afraid of much, but he was afraid of the cage and of Lucifer. And that's why as they rode home in the impala he brought it up. Because he knew what Dean would say, knew he would demand no more talk of it, would try to assure him there was no call for such drastic measures. Would absolutely forbid it...would promise they would find a better way, a better way to fix what they had broken.

So he talked to Dean, and told him of his doubts and fears and Dean, as expected shot him down. Told him no, reassured him that there was a better way, a way where Sam didn't have to face his fears AND not commit suicide. (as Dean so sensitively put it) He let Dean assuage his guilt and fear. He decided that for one night he could take the little brother's place and listen and believe and be safe.

So he said, "Okay," to Dean's logic and they raced towards the bunker, both thinking of warm showers and comfy beds. (Sam's not so comfy) It wasn't until they had reached home and Sam was placing the weapons bag on the map table that he noticed the dark bruising snaking around Dean's neck. The collar of his shirt and coat had plainly been pulled up to conceal the fact and Sam frowned as he approached his brother who had his back turned to him.

Sam ghosts his fingers over the bruises, the purple, black and blue markings on his brother's skin making him ache deep inside. Dean's hand grasps around his wrist and twists it back precariously close to breaking it as Dean spins around in a blink of an eye.

The boy's eyes meet and Sam is staring into stone-cold green depths with a predator's cunning in them. It's seldom Sam sees the purgatory warrior or the hell torture master break through Dean's thick mask but this moment is one of them. He swallows thickly as he truly see the metal of the man that is his brother.

Dean blinks and the moment is gone. He smiles apologetically and lets go of Sam's wrist, stepping away from him and walking back towards his room.

"Sorry Sam," he calls over his shoulder, "Should know better than to creep up on a hunter, little brother."

Sam is quick to follow after him, "Dean are you alright, what happened to your neck?"

Dean stops in the hallway and Sam joins him there, "I'm alright Sam, ol' Chester just seemed to have a fetish for choking people, is all."

Sam is still unsure, it's been a long time since he's seen Dean like this. Strong and cold, going to his room to hide from Sam, but all smiles and jokes. Something twists unpleasantly in Sam's stomach.

"Choking people? He choked you?" Sam stutters in disbelief, he hadn't even noticed Dean in pain, none of the usual tells had shown. But Sam knew a good choking could result in trouble breathing and a painful swollen throat. "Dean, let me look at it, let me get you some ice." He offers, trying to pull Dean towards the kitchen.

He doesn't know what is wrong with Dean, but he doesn't want him to be alone. Not when those other men that are part of his brother are so close to the surface. Sometimes Sam's afraid one will break loose and that HIS Dean will be lost forever in the depths of love and lies that is Dean Winchester's heart.

Dean snorts a laugh and gives Sam an easy smile, "It's fine Sammy," he assures, "Go and get yourself a warm shower and get in that rock hard bed, I know you want it as bad as me."

Sam hesitates giving his brother a fully suspicious and worried look, Dean sighs and places a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright Sam, it'll be fine in the morning." He smiles, a full Dean Winchester, big brother smile and Sam's worry somewhat abates. He smiles back and nods.

"Okay," he breathes out, "I'll see ya in the morning."

"Sleep tight," Dean shoots after him, over his shoulder.

Sam smiles and chuckles, "Don't let the bed bugs bite," he calls back to his brother.

...

The smile dies on Dean Winchester's face even before Sam's voice has fully faded in the bunker's halls. A hand goes to caress over those burning and aching fingerprints branded on his neck, but more troubling to him are the voices in his mind, the instincts shouting at him to take action, the ache that tells him if he watches Sam disappear into the cage again he will die. And if he doesn't die he WILL kill himself.

It had gone against his very NATURE all those years ago to let Sam jump into that pit. It had broken Dean in ways Sam nor anyone else would ever know or understand. The time he'd passed with Lisa had been filled with the normalcy he and Sam had always yearned for but emotionally they were the worst months of his life.

The guilt...the wrongness of allowing his brother to die, allowing Sam to sacrifice himself for him and for the world had torn Dean to pieces. And no matter how hard he tried Dean had never picked up all the pieces, never been able to put himself back together. The only time he felt halfway whole was with Sam safe, and by his side.

And that was how he knew Sam wasn't himself, how he knew with all his heart Sam's soul was missing. Because it had been like missing half of himself. He'd hoped and prayed that his brother would be returned to him, that they would have a second chance at this powerful, beautiful thing between them.

He needed to be with Sam to be himself, just as much as Sam needed his soul to be himself.

And then Sam was back, and he's not talking about roboSam he's talking about his Sam, Sammy. And his brother had embraced him and clung to him in a plea for Dean to protect him, and in that moment the broken man that had been Dean Winchester was bound back together within the arms of his little brother.

And Dean knew he could never break like that again and live through it. So he buried it beneath everything, buried it beneath the tortured souls in hell, beneath the sorrow of losing his mother. When he got back from purgatory he wrapped that hurt and insecurity around it too, to add another layer. He could never show that weakness, never show that hurt.

But life and Sam was making it very hard. Dean could barely contain the nausea and desperation that filled him when the cage was mentioned. Then Sam spoke of going back and Dean's heart had nearly burst. The barriers hiding and bonding the brokenness back together had shaken and cracked. Dean didn't know how the brokenness would feel but he immediately knew the difference. The other Deans fought for a way through the cracks and into Dean's mind.

He'd spent the entire drive back home fighting the PTSD, pushing the urge to run relentlessly from the monsters he KNEW were chasing them down. Fighting with the bloodthirsty torture master for control...praying and begging with the Righteous Man to accept Zachariah's offer and save Sam from ever having to go into the cage...

Then Sam had touched him, touched his neck where those bruises burned, seared into his skin and the muscle beneath. That was real. Sam was real, the pain was real...he'd taught himself that, had taught Sam. The instincts of the purgatory warrior had him grabbing Sam's wrist, the bloodthirsty torturer had him yearning to break it, to hear the sound, see the agony rip through his brother's countenance, the blood ooze from the wounds where the bone would penetrate through the skin...

Sam's eyes met his, the beautiful blue green pools of emotion and trust, gazing into his. A question there, are you alright? But other than that absolute trust looking back at him. He felt Sam's eyes boar deeper, he was filleted open for Sam to see. To see the layers and levels of sorrow and pain that made Dean Winchester. Sam's head cocks to the side, he sees and understands, he is absolutely still, careful not to excite those other men, not to startle them into action.

At Sam's trust in him, Dean gains control over his variations and knows there will be no end to Sam's mother henning if he doesn't shut it down now. He smiles, he apologizes, he is as normal and secure as he can manage with all his demons running rampant inside. He manages to assuage Sam's little brother worry, soothes him with his big brother finesse and sends him off to bed laughing...

As quickly as his aching body will allow Dean closes himself up in his room and locks the door, afraid of what any of his selves may do should they get control.

And god, there is that feeling. That feeling he had hoped and prayed and begged he'd never feel again. That crushed, helpless...dead feeling in his heart and soul. It was a constant ache that made him want to give up and die. Leaning against his closed door he tried to breathe through the panic that rose in him, the warrior wanted to run from it or fight against it, the Righteous Man wanted to succumb, wanted him to die, the torturer reveled in the suffering, he wanted it to go on forever and ever. They all whispered their instructions to him.

The pain in his chest and throat brought him somewhat back to reality. He spread his cool hand over the enflamed skin of his neck and brought in big, gasping breaths filling his lungs with air, chasing the black spots from his vision. He slides down the door and sits on the floor, back supported by the wood.

"I can do this," he says to himself.

He sets to work untying his boots, and kicks them off.

"Pfft, you can do this?" The Righteous Man asks laughing. "C'mon Dean," he jeers, "We both know you haven't got it in you, both know you'd rather roll over and die."

Dean winces. True, he concedes.

"You can suffer through anything Dean," Alister's star pupil whispers, voice smooth as silk, "Let it burn, let it burn...screeeaaaammmmm...pain is the only, truly-real thing we have in this life." Dean feels his words dance and flirt around his soul, he is more frightened of the hell version of himself than he ever was of the real Satan.

I can't go through this again, he says to himself, there is no suffering through this, he decides. His evil counterpart hisses in disdain, Dean ignores him (or tries.)

"Are you afraid Dean?" His warrior self asks. And this is the man Dean is always fighting, the good and bad is muddled in this man. He kills ruthlessly, brutally, he does so to stay alive, to get back to Sam, but are all those lives really worth ending just for Dean to live? This is the part of him Dean is most like. This is the part of Dean that truly understands Dean Winchester.

"You're afraid," he jeers, "Run then, run as fast as your legs can carry you."

Dean gasps, "I won't run." He whispers, sounding uncertain.

"Stand your ground and fight then!" The warrior demands, "You are not weak, you are not these other men..."

"You're a survivor Dean," the serpent version of himself hisses, "That's what you do...survive, even when no else does, you ENDURE..."

Dean feels himself flinch against his bedroom door and he hates himself for it.

"You're right Dean, cringe, cower," the Righteous Man taunts, "Look at you, you miserable worm...you're just a useless meat suit. But you could have been more, could have saved your brother, could have been Michael's, could have been in God's will, could have lived forever in God's presence...could have joined your mother and father and could have been safe in their arms forever..."

"BUT," hell-bent Dean interrupted, "You had to go and do the RIGHT thing. Sacrifice yourself for Sammy, say no to Michael, end the apocalypse, I could go on and on..."

"And you still failed him!" the Righteous Man spat.

Dean clenches his eyes shut, and pushes the heels of his palms into them. He needs to get in control now...NOW. Things were getting out of hand, things were getting...crazy.

Purgatory Dean kneels beside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder as he whispers in his ear, "The brat betrayed you how many times? Frigging forgot about you! You did your best, you went over and beyond for him, Dean. He drags you down, he holds you back!" He shouts, pushing Dean into the door.

"He certainly makes you a goody two shoes," Hellish Dean sneers, parading in a line at Dean's feet, looking down on him hungrily, ready to snap him up into the cruel depths of that dark spirit.

"He is Lucifer's spawn, an abomination," the Righteous Man says cooly where he leans against the door jam watching the scene unfold before him.

"Sam is my brother." Dean states firmly, unsure as to why he is arguing with figments of his brain...or as to why they are touching him and in his room.

"Oh yes," the Righteous Man assures, "He's your brother, but who are you to him?" He stands straight and walks across the room examining Dean's desk and the objects there.

"A warrior? A tool...a blunt instrument, daddy's little soldier?" Purgatory Dean asks from his left where he is leaning against the door alongside Dean. "He's always been eager to leave you Dean, he's never fought like you have to be by your side."

Dean gives him a dirty look.

"For all you know," the torturer prods, "Sam's just ready to leave you, would rather be in the cage than be with you, would rather have Lucifer torturing him day and night for the rest of his life than being stuck with your sorry ass!" He laughs in glee as he watches the words tear Dean further. Feels as his barriers break a little more, that ugly brokenness giving them more power.

The Righteous man chuckles coldly watching the tears leap into Dean's eyes, "He'd be better off without you Dean, at least then, he wouldn't have to give himself to Lucifer in order to be rid of you." He holds up the angel blade from Dean's desk enticingly. "C'mon," he urges, a sneer on his lips, "You know you're ready to leave it all behind, give it all up...Sammy doesn't need you anymore."

"You're stronger than that Dean," the purgatory variation argues beside him, nudging him with his shoulder, whispering confidingly in his ear. "If you fight through this you'll be stronger than ever before, you'll survive that much more."

Hell Dean kneels in front of him, cold hand snaking up to his neck, long fingers wrapping around his throat, Dean's eyes widen in fear and meet his eyes. So like his own but cold and sharp and cunning. He bends and whispers into Dean's ear.

"Come back to me Dean," his lips tickle against Dean's cheek, "Come on back to us, Dean..." Dean gasps for breath as the fingers strangle the air from his throat, his eyes bug out of his head as his fingers struggle to remove the ones from his already bruised neck... "Time to play, Dean Winchester," he whispers nearly against his lips, his eyes glow from within a warm yellow.

"This is what you will become..." He entices. The Righteous Man approaches with the Angel blade and hands it to the master torturer...

...

Sam finishes in his bathroom and turns off the light, making a nearly leaping bound into his bed. Dean was right, he WAS looking forward to it, and it really WAS uncomfortable. Maybe he should ask Dean to get him a memory foam mattress too?

He snuggles down in his covers and rubs the side of his face deeper into his pillow, takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly...the day is over. It's time to sleep, he tells his body. The silence of the bunker surrounds him, the darkness lays thick over him trying to entice his mind to give up the rat race it runs all day.

He suddenly wishes he'd chosen a room closer to Dean's, he wishes Dean would have let him look at his neck. He wishes he hadn't seen those remnants of those other pieces of his brother in his eyes. He wishes Dean didn't carry around those ghosts, he wishes he could banish them, like Dean banishes all his. He sighs.

He wanted to press ice to his bruised neck and hold him close and whisper into his ear.

Let go of that guilt, let go of that version of you, you are different now, you're more beautiful than that, you're bigger than that.

But in the morning they'd both be better, that haunted look would be gone from Dean's face, it wouldn't be there to haunt Sam anymore. He would pray to God, Dean would laugh at him...nothing would probably come of it. They would drink coffee, they'd be clueless about the darkness some more, laugh at Cas some more...in the morning.

Wasn't that what Dean said? It'll be fine in the morning? He breathes deep again, in the morning, really it was a nice thought. In the morning everything would be better, they would be them again, it would be as if Sam had said nothing about the cage...Dean would have shaken off that gloomy mood he always got after they talked about it, Sam would be well rested and ready to face the day in the morning...

And Dean he would be better in the morning too, his neck would feel better, probably wouldn't look better, but it would feel better in the morning...in the morning.

Sam froze.

Dean had said it would be fine in the morning...meaning it wasn't fine now. Dean never made admissions like if he was in his right mind, and if he wasn't hurt. But he had, had let that slip out...had let those other men leak into his eyes, had let them lay their hands on Sam...had let them pose as a threat to Sam. Everything was not fine, and Sam wasn't entirely sure it would be in the morning either.

Sam is off the bed and through his door in a second, Dean Winchester was getting help before morning whether he liked it or not.

tbc...

What do you think? Is Dean beyond help?

PLEASE REVIEW!

thank you


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2.

"You're just gonna let them lay their hands on you, not fight back?" Purgatory Dean hisses in Dean's ear. "You're really gonna just roll over and die?"

Dean growls deep in his throat at the insinuation, and grounds the heels of his hands into his eyes once again. These men were not real. Whether he'd finally cracked or was just tired he didn't know, but he did know these men had no power over him, they weren't real. They were lesser Deans from times long past.

As Hell Dean tightens his grasp on Dean's neck and black spots are blearing his vision, he tells himself firmly that there is no man strangling him, that there isn't a frightening trio standing over him awaiting his annihilation so they could fight and squabble over taking his place.

He shakes himself and stands, surprised when he goes right through Hell Dean's hands, but the three do not disappear. They stand alongside him and watch him silently.

Dean knows the real reason dark spots are edging in on his vision. He knows his throat is probably swollen closed, and he's probably hyperventilating, god knows this was an ordeal. He knows if he doesn't shake off this hellish world his mind has created and calm down he'll die on his bedroom floor gasping for breath and arguing with three different versions of himself. Wow, what a nut case.

He holds out a hand to his other selves as if to stall them, he gasps for some breaths. "You are not real," he says, "You are another me." He looks hell Dean straight in the eyes, "With one big difference...I'm alive, you are dead."

Dean places a hand on his chest and tries to soothe some of the burning there, "You're time is over, all of you," he glances around to all the men standing around him. "You had you're time, you fought and won all in that time, it's my time now."

He leans back against the door and closes his eyes willing himself to calm down more, forces himself to think of Sam, of the fear and confusion in his little brother's face earlier that evening, the pain he feels in his heart at mention of the cage, the burning sensation searing through his veins right now...those things were real. He needed to deal with those things.

He'd already dealt with these men, or he'd tried. He needed to put them to rest again.

"That's right, think of Sammy," the Righteous Man sneered, "Think of how much he needs you, try to ground yourself. You've stooped so low Dean, you'll never get back up...why did we ever think the brother of Lucifer's spawn could have ever served the Father's purpose?"

"You're right," Dean says, looking up. "I was never righteous, never God's servant and never will be. If being that means leaving Sam, never ever. And you failed to enlist me in the God squad last time you were around, and you're not gonna do it today...I'm with Sam until the end whether he's with me or not, you should know that by now."

Dean watches as the look of pure contempt and rage engulfs his own face across the room from him and the Righteous Man disappears with a roar of outrage. The other two men look at him in surprise and Dean stares back, he's done this before...granted it is hard and exhausting, and he'll probably die of suffocation before he succeeds but at least he's been victorious over that winged dick version of himself once again.

Without the Righteous Man in the room Dean breathes easier, he's used to dealing with the lowest of the low, the sweepings of the earth. He eyes his enemies and sizes them up, he's been these men...knows their weaknesses.

Purgatory Dean is his brother in arms, he knows and trusts this man, he's the most like him. He's bound by certain rules of honor. The honor that would betray Sam in order to save Benny who had been his brother in arms too. Course in the end Sam had won out...but the point is is that this warrior was noble and fearless, the kind of man Dean understood no matter what form he was in.

He approaches the grim looking version of himself and stands in front of him, they look into each other's eyes and they know the other, they see themselves there. The bloodshed, the devotion to friends and family...the thrill of the chase, the love of the hunt...Dean holds out his hand.

"It's for you to go," he says, "Your time is over, go in peace...be glad your fight is over."

Purgatory Dean eyes Hell Dean warily, "It could be the two of us, Dean, just like old times, two of us against the world," he says, motioning towards the cold, cunning version of Dean.

Dean shakes his head and smiles sadly, "Your war is over, besides, this is something I have to do myself."

"Alright," purgatory Dean concedes, and regards Dean with something like fondness and sadness in his eyes, "Farewell my friend."

He places his hand in Dean's and they shake before the warrior is gone in a blink of an eye and leaves his friend alone with the worst of them.

Hell Dean smiles coldly as they begin to circle each other.

"Alone at last," he says smoothly, "Been a long time. You gotta admit Dean," he clucks his tongue, "We were pretty good together."

Dean is silent.

Hell Dean laughs, "You really think you're gonna banish me like those other bastards? It's not gonna be easy...I been waiting for the opportunity, I'm not going back down, Dean...I'm not going to be put to rest."

This is the man Dean Winchester fears. The one that broke...the one that broke, and when he did it hurt him so bad he lashed out at every living thing around him...souls. And he enjoyed it, found solace in hurting others after he'd been hurt so miserably. He didn't deserve hell, but others did, justice should be given, justice should be dealt out...

"I can hear your thoughts, you know?" He said slyly, making Dean feel stupid. "You still sound just like me...you and me Dean, so alike, you'd just never admit it...too ashamed."

Dean is still silent as Hell Dean approaches him, his back hits the wood of the door as the torturer gets in his face again, "You should of known there was no getting rid of me Dean, you can't change who you are."

"...no," Dean gasps out, "Your time is over too, you are dead to me!"

"Oh, you pain me," his variation mocks hurt, "You'll never be free of it Dean! Never be free of that urge to mutilate and scar, you feel it now don't you?" He jeers, toying with the Angel blade in his hand. "You're so angry Sam would ever have to think of going back to the cage...if you could you would torture and rip your way through a million souls to stop it from happening...innocent or not." He hisses as a cruel after thought.

His hand slips back up to wrap it's strong fingers around Dean's throat, "And you wonder why Sam wants to get away from you? You wonder why he's ready to go back to Lucifer? Wonder why he's afraid of you and what you've done?...you're a monster Dean, you're not worthy of him, and He. Will. Leave. You."

He abruptly lets go of Dean, laughing at the sorrows chasing each other over his face. Dean falls to the floor, leaning against the door, coughing and heaving shallow breaths, fighting back the tears.

He hears a faraway banging above his head, watches as his counterpart descends on him through the darkening mist obscuring his vision. Hell Dean grabs him by the neck again and Dean knows these are his last moments if he doesn't do anything to stop him.

"You'll never be free of YOU, Dean," he hisses into his ear, as Dean chokes on his tongue.

Dean grabs his wrist and twists brutally and the Angel blade falls harmlessly into his own palm.

"I will be free of you, though," he grunts back.

Hell Dean freezes as he watches Dean lay his own hand over the blade and draw it roughly over causing a deep gash to appear in his palm. Dean grits his teeth through the burning pain...

"Go back to hell, you bastard," he hisses, and then draws the blade through the wound again, driving it deeper.

And SONUVABITCH! That hurt! It's all he can think for a few moments the agony is so intense.

He blinks away the smarting tears in his eyes...Hell Dean is gone...it worked. The pain had grounded him and banished his mind's threat away with the overriding presence of REAL pain. He lays gasping against his door, half propped against it, trying to get a breath...the burning in his chest and throat almost unbearable.

Through his own heart beat banging away in his head he barely hears a thumping on the other side of his door like a faraway knocking...Sam, his mind supplies. But the calming thought comes too late. Dean's head lolls to the side as consciousness finally gives way to sweet oblivion.

...

Sam reaches his brother's door only to find it shut and locked, he tries the door handle after his first initial knock. More disturbing still is Dean's voice filtering out talking to...someone. Sam's gut clenches, who is Dean talking to this time of night? Sam's just guessing he's on the phone. He turns to leave to get the ice himself when the door shakes with an impact on the other side.

Sam jumps back from the door as something rams into it and then hears something heavy fall to the ground. He freezes, listening carefully. "Dean?" He calls hesitantly, "You alright in there?"

There is no response but he does hear Dean still speaking quietly...something is wrong, he thinks. He tries the door knob again just for good measure.

"Dean!" He yells again, "Dean, let me in." He demands. He bangs on the door ruthlessly but still gets no response.

He kneels and looks through the grill inserted in the bottom of Dean's door. He's alarmed to see just the back of Dean slumped against the door, and now that he's stopped his yelling and banging he can hear Dean's quick, shallow breaths.

Sam takes off for his bedroom and retrieves the lock pick from his jacket pocket. He's back at Dean's door swallowing down fast breaths, kneeling and carefully inserting the pick and waiting for the soft click. Sam nearly faints from relief when he hears the telling click as the lock slides out of place.

He slips the pick into his pocket and swings the door open from his position on his knees. The door swings in so Sam carefully pushes it open, wincing when Dean slides down the door and slumps the rest of the way to the floor, head thumping softly the ground. Sam slips in and the door shuts behind him.

Sam lifts Dean's upper body into his arms and supports his head with a hand. He carefully feels his swollen neck for a pulse and is gratified to find one, it's slowing down after Dean obviously passed out from a panic attack. He sighs. His neck needed ice right now.

Dean's breaths were slowing and deepening out, so Sam lays him flat on the floor, careful that there was no strain on his neck and that air could pass easily through. He slips out of the room and packs two plastic bags full of ice and wraps them in bath towels, he also gets some iced water with a straw and makes his way back. He places his supplies on the bedside table, turns the bed back, and then kneels beside his brother.

Dean is still out, his breaths coming slower and a bit unevenly, Sam can tell it's hurting him by the way it's whistling as it escapes his throat. Sam slips an arm around his shoulders and then the other under his knees and grunts as he stands. He stumbles his way over to Dean's bed and nearly drops him on the soft mattress. Dean grimaces but doesn't wake. And Sam's starting to get a little concerned, he should have woken up by now.

So he packs the ice around Dean's neck, laying him flat on the mattress with no pillows. He pulls the blankets up over Dean and kneels down, leaning with his elbows on the bed watching his brother. Dean grimaces a little, and groans under his breath...soon slivers of green are looking at Sam from hooded lids.

"Hey Dean," Sam says softly.

Dean's eyes flit over the room suspiciously, as if he expected someone unwelcome to be there, and then they light back on Sam.

"They're gone?" He asks airily, Sam looks around confused, just in case he missed something.

"No one's here, Dean," he answers soothingly, "Just you and me."

Dean closes his eyes and moves his head slowly, grimacing at the strain it puts on his neck.

"It's alright Dean, just lay still, you gotta give it some time to heal." He says reprovingly, but affectionately pushes Dean's hair back from his forehead.

"S'm..." Dean hums out, swallowing in pain.

"Sh, Dean," Sam says, making sure the ice was flush against Dean's neck, "Don't talk, just rest...it'll be better in the morning."

"Gotta say somethin', S'm." He grunts out, voice hoarse and sore. Sam can sense that urgency about his brother that he always has when he really needs to say something.

"Okay," Sam concedes, "But I wish you wouldn't."

Dean smirks a little and Sam smiles too.

Dean looks a little nervous and his hand unconsciously finds Sam's where it lays on his mattress. He looks down where they lay there together.

"It's just...Sam, I nev'r want'd you to feel like you havta' stay with me..." Dean swallows thickly, looking away.

"Dean what are you talking about? I..." Sam is startled by the words coming from his brother. He's wondering if maybe Dean hit his head too.

"Jus' let me finish S'mmy," he lisps out with an airy exhale, "If you want to go, just go..." He swallows again painfully.

Sam shakes his head adamantly, opening his mouth to speak, to ask where this coming from, what happen to Dean those ten minutes alone in his room?

He watches as tears well in Dean's eyes and fall down his face, "Just go Sam, you don't need an excuse to leave me...you don't need to go to the cage. You can just go...I won't fight you, I won't follow you...but just, don't go back...please don't go back there..." the sob breaks from Dean's throat, and Sam knows by the way his grip on the Sam's hand tightens that it hurt Dean like hell.

Sam lays a calming hand on Dean's chest and he grips his hand equally strong with the other.

"Dean, I'm not going anywhere," he whispers, leaning down closer to him. "And I definitely don't WANT to go anywhere! I don't want to leave you...my place is with you."

He feels tears come to his own eyes as some run down Dean's face, "I realized a long time ago that no matter what I did, where I went, I was only ever happy with you...on the road, hunting."

Dean shakes his head, "Just tell me S'mmy," he says softly, "Just tell me when you need to leave, you don't need to run away."

"Dean, I already told you..." Sam said confused.

"No!" Dean says, drawing in a wet breath, "Promise me you'll tell me, just swear to me you'll tell me, Sam, before you go, tell me...please, I won't be mad, I won't try and stop you just..."

Sam felt a desperate feeling rise in him at Dean's distressed plea and tears, he swallows down his own panic at this strange show of emotion. "Alright Dean," he says softly, fingers going soothingly through his short, soft hair, "I promise I'll tell you, I promise...I'll take you with me, okay?"

Dean nods shakily, and hand goes to wipe away his tears and cover his mouth as the sobs and painful breaths escape him in gasps.

Sam watches is silence and pity, doing his best to calm his brother. He rises to carefully check through Dean's hair for any bumps, he found none. Dean watches him exhaustedly through tear glistening eyes.

Sam sighs, "Okay I think you're fine...just tired."

Dean nods stiffly, eyes coasting closed and floating open again.

"You're good, right?" Sam asks, pulling another blanket over him.

Dean provides no answer since Sam's question could have rhetorical. He blinks lazily at the ceiling, he won...like he had before. He thought that if put those ghosts to rest again it would close the brokenness up again, but he was wrong.

As he lay there watching Sam so tenderly care for him, the hole grew deeper and darker, the ache stronger. This is what he would lose, because he knew he would, he knew it was coming. He knew Sam had already mostly made up his mind. That he would do anything to fix this thing they had broken.

And maybe that was a good thing, maybe they should fix what they could, because they definitely couldn't fix everything. Couldn't fix their lives, couldn't fix each other, couldn't fix Cas. They had tried to fix a lot and failed. Look at him-they had tried to fix him but after all their efforts Dean was just a broken man...

PLEASE REVIEW

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